


either way, (maybe) i'll break your heart someday

by advernia



Category: Midnight Cinderella (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, it can also be a case of YMMV if you squint further whatever floats your boat, it's more of an implied thing but oh well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-15
Updated: 2018-06-15
Packaged: 2019-05-23 15:42:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14937146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/advernia/pseuds/advernia
Summary: — vows are questioned, clarified, altered, and restated... but not at the altar.(or: the princess of wysteria thinks herself to be cruel. for a moment, under the star-painted sky, alyn crawford thinks the same.)





	either way, (maybe) i'll break your heart someday

**Author's Note:**

> 1: this was a request fic for my friends (and probably a thank you one maybe since they're the ones who dragged me to midcin) _but_ i haven't gone through alyn's route yet so idk if alyn's interpreted correctly i'm sorry??? i'm aware i shouldn't be writing stuff for a route i haven't gone through yet but... oh well.

“Does your knight’s oath, code, promise… or whatever you call it - really say that you would do anything for Wysteria’s sake?”

There’s the urge to tell the princess off for the oh-so-casual tone laced with her question since she’s asking  **him**  of all people, the Captain of the Wysterian Royal Guard, about the Wysterian knight’s oath (it’s not just a  _whatever you call it_ or an afterthought, damn her, and she ought to have more respect for it), but then again; she was probably curious and meant no offense at all.

 _… probably_.

He finds it odd that she would bring up that sort of topic just seconds after he had found her in the palace gardens on her own, but perhaps it was the result of the diplomatic meeting she had earlier - discussions concerning the country’s borders and other similar safety concerns tended to make the princess pensive, or if not less lively than she’d usually be.

“That’s not the exact words, but that’s one way to think of it,” Alyn shoots a questioning look at her direction, but she’s set on staring at the water’s surface as she sits by the fountain’s base so she can’t see his face. “And by the way… The Wysterian knight’s oath of chivalry is a long running oral tradition passed down within the country’s circle of knights, so it’s something learned by heart and mind. It’s also great honor for every man who dreams to become a knight, so don’t just shrug it off next time, alright?”

She hums softly, her mouth forming a small  _o_. “Sorry, I’ll remember that.” Her voice trails off, but it picks itself up again shortly. “… So do Wysterian knights swear to even place their lives on the line if the need arises?”

Without reservation, Alyn nods. His gaze turns towards the Wysterian royal palace, its tall marble walls painted faintly with the red, orange, and yellow hues of the sunset sky. “That’s the idea: starting from the day he decided to enlist himself to train for a life of service up to the day he’s finally seen worthy to be ordained and granted a sword of his own; a Wysterian knight’s strength, loyalty, interests, and sense of duty is solely bound to Wysteria and its people until his last breath. Since he made his pledge at the feet of the Wysterian royal family, the knight should also remember that his vow is not only about the welfare of the country and her people, but more importantly; the protection of the legacy of those who govern Wysteria itself.”

The princess glances at him, her eyes lingering at the proud smile etched on his face before she shifts back to staring at the fountain’s waters. (There she sees a mirror image of herself staring right back at her, its eyes forlorn.)

“… and if I ask you to redirect your vows elsewhere?”

Her voice comes out carefully, as if she were trying to evaluate her words herself. Silence settles and stretches languidly around them - it lies at her lap and stares at her with unblinking beady eyes, long enough for her to ponder if she had spoken too softly for him to hear so she had to repeat herself, or maybe he had heard her but opted to ignore what she had just said. Personally she hoped for the former: she should quit the roundabout approach and tell him ‘ _don’t you die for me’_ or something similar, it sounded much direct  _and_  easier to say. Why did she bother with tact, anyway?

A few more seconds pass until finally, she hears a sharp inhale - it’s too sharp that it seems to cut the air around them, and it makes Silence slither off her lap with a mocking grin. Shortly after, her body tenses under the weight of a piercing glare: it’s then she realizes that she may have forgotten to consider the knight’s response, along with the possibility that she may not get a word edgewise once they start talking.

“Were you even listening to a word I said?” The steel in Alyn’s snarl is unmistakable, but she wills herself to stand her ground.

“Yes,” she breathes, angling her head to meet his glare. (It stings). “You vowed that for the rest of your life you would protect Wysteria and its people, with those who govern it your priority. But if I tell you, as the princess of Wysteria,  _not_  to risk  **or**  give your life for my sake… aren’t you bound to follow?”

“… even if you make  _that_  a royal order, I wouldn’t follow such a  **stupid**  order.”

He spits out his words with a striking amount of venom, the hostility reminding her of the days he regarded and treated her coldly - she’s aware that it’s an inappropriate feeling to have considering the mood of their conversation, but she can’t help but become amused as she recalled those days. Alyn, on the other hand, notices the upward quirk of her lips - it only serves to frustrate him further, his hands balling themselves into fists.

The amusement doesn’t last long on the princess’ lips though.

“… What was I before Giles decided to make me the princess elect?” she asks calmly.

 _A commoner_ , he tries to say but it doesn’t roll off his tongue especially when she’s just right in front of him with the princess’ tiara set carefully upon her hair, with how it sparkles brightly even under the sunset glow almost glaring at him. Now his tongue tastes like rust (it’s probably guilt, it tastes horrible), so he improvises. “… A citizen of Wysteria,” he replies sourly.

The princess faces him properly as she nods, satisfaction brightening her features but not his at the slightest. (At all). “Exactly,” she says, “I used to be no different from our citizens: I lived most of my life outside these palace walls but within Wysteria’s borders, Alyn. I know the feeling of unease and helplessness whenever there’s tension in the borders or in the country present. Now that I have the title of princess and I  _know_  there’s something I’m capable of doing, I want to make sure that if those dark times come… the people would feel reassured to know that the Royal Guard is right there to help and protect them immediately.”

As he listened and went over the princess’ words, Alyn’s glare and fists find themselves relaxing - he instead stares blankly at the princess, memories of their first meeting resurfacing in vivid color. He envisions the strange girl who tried to climb over the palace walls in her casual frock sitting beside the maiden by the fountain before him, dressed in exquisite silks and fine jewelry. No matter how long he stares, his eyes tell him that they  _look_  far apart but are still the  _same_  - the way their heads tilt upwards with a strange refreshing confidence, their overall physique and the curves of their faces, the mass and wisps of wavy raven hair, the kind light that dances in their open eyes, the length of lithe fingers and unpainted nails, the curve of their lips as they  _smile_  - there’s no mistake.

Why did he forget?

(How could he  _forget_?)

He looks away, unable to meet her gaze and reluctant to look at her face. He shifts awkwardly from where he stood as feelings of frustration, annoyance, guilt, and shame mix together in him; and the words he wishes to say to her find themselves stuck at his throat.

“Alyn?” she calls out to him, oh-so-softly. He tries his best not to cringe. (He fails.)

“… Don’t get me wrong. I get what you’re trying to say,” his words come out as grumbles, “But you  **are**  different now, and you can’t ask me to abandon you just because you asked me to. You don’t have royal blood in you, but your duty to Wysteria became more than what a commoner or noble could ever have starting from the day you wore that tiara - you, along with the king, stand as Wysteria’s central pillars and without one or both, there’s a chance that the country could fall. What kind of knight would I be if I couldn’t even protect someone that important?”

She blinks once, twice; exhales, and then she purses her lips before turning her gaze away as well. He had made his point - a truthful one at that - but the expression that remained on the princess’ face meant anything else but surrender. Both say nothing for a moment as they’re lost in their respective thoughts, before the princess looks back at her knight with a frown.

“If I am a pillar… then what are  _you -_ and the people of Wysteria, then?” she asks.

For that question, his reply comes in swift and firm. He also finds the strength to look at her directly again, his eyes reflecting an undeniable resolve.

“Your support - we are your foundation, and we will do whatever we can to make you stand tall.”

She cocks her head at him in wonder as she studied him from head to toe. Sir Alyn Crawford: young Captain of the Wysterian Royal Guard, standing tall and proud with his sword at his side, armor and cloths the same shades of gold, silver, and red the Wysterian emblem was known for. Even if she was yet to see him in action (and hopefully, she would never have to), his sense of purpose and duty for his country already resonated through his voice and very being, leaving no room for any skepticism to where his loyalties would lie. It suits him well, the word  _support_  - he was reliable as he appeared and as strong as he sounded,  _but_  -

“You say the country falls without its pillars,” she speaks with a gentle solemnity, “But what are sturdy pillars without their firm foundations?”

The princess  _smiles_ , and his eyes widen: it’s not that smile of hers that reaches her eyes, coming together with her melodic laughter or her chirpy voice. No, it’s  _the_  smile that he’d only see whenever he’d catch her staring far out of the palace gates and to the horizon, towards the hills where there stood a town she used to call home. It’s  _that_  smile he saw when he had accompanied her that one late night out of the palace to see her student for the last time, the moonlight streaming from above bright and dancing upon her features. It’s  _that_  smile, the one he’d briefly seen her give the king when she once paid a visit to his chambers with a basket of treats in her hands and a mouth full of tales to tell.

He’s only seen her smile like that from afar, but never did Alyn expect her to direct that smile at him, for  _him_. The proximity makes him realize that perhaps he’s seeing the  _softest_  of her smiles: it’s small yet it seems to light up her face all the same, but what draws him in is the sheer amount of emotion her eyes held in them - it’s beautifully clear and true with such tenderness that for a second he forgets to breathe, the whirring storm of feelings in him suddenly subsiding.

All of a sudden, everything around and in him feels too  _warm_. (And for some reason, his heart is beating faster than it normally should.)

When he catches himself staring far too long, Alyn surprises the princess with a heavy groan that escapes his lips - he turns away from her and he brings up a hand to shuffle through his hair. (He can’t let the princess see him like this, he tells himself). “I give up,” his voice strains with an amount of exasperation, “I don’t understand why you’re being so insistent about this.”

“I just want you to promise me,” she laughs, “if ever something would happen to the country, I want you and your men to prioritize the people - there are other knights that can protect me. Besides, I’m not the only princess elect Wysteria will ever have, you know.”

There’s a strange pang that hits him upon hearing her say that  _others_ could just protect  _her_  in  ** _his_**  stead so casually, but he leaves it be. ( _For now_ ). There’s also something that just bothers him with how persistent she was in having him make a promise, but if there’s anything he learned about the princess in the past three months he’d spent time with her, it’s that she could be as stubborn as a mule. The worst feeling though is the lingering implication of her last words - it spreads an  _awful_  taste in his mouth (worse than guilt could ever leave) and anger bubbles in him quickly, replacing the warmth he felt from her smile.

“But you’re the princess elect  **now** ,” Alyn growls, turning around and taking a few steps toward the princess, “Imagine what would go on if something were to happen to you right this minute - the king’s health grows worse each passing day, diplomatic relations with Stein  _and_ Protea are still difficult and questionable at best, and  _you_ ,  _your highness_ , show no signs of fulfilling your primary duty - give me one good reason  _not_  to protect you, and maybe I’ll think about making that promise.”

He sees her visibly wince at his choice of words and at the force of his tone, her eyes closing themselves shut. Her smile fades and her lips purse themselves together as her brows furrow - just like that, the warmth of her earlier expression has faded. Alyn stops a good three steps short from where she sat, staring at her expectantly for a reply.

A part of him prays that she says nothing more - the knight’s code aside, he had no intentions of leaving her safety in someone else’s hands, be it the hands of his comrades or someone he truly trusted. It’s that kind of stupidly selfish purpose that a knight shouldn’t possess and something he couldn’t bring himself to understand  _why_  he felt so strongly about, but as long as he could and as long as time would allow him, he  _wanted_ to protect her with his own strength: not as the Captain of the Royal Guard, not as a knight of Wysteria, not even as a noble, and certainly not as a  _friend_ ; but simply as a man who wished to keep her  _safe_.

Why couldn’t she  _understand_?

(Why couldn’t he point out exactly what he felt about her, either?)

“… because I’ll vow to protect you, too.”

His reply comes out strangled. “… what?”

“Look,” she rises from where she sat, closing the distance in between them and taking his hands into hers. The action makes Alyn’s face blow into a strange expression, a mix of confusion and distaste for her sudden contact and invasion of personal space, but he can’t look away when her gaze just begs him to listen to her. “If the time comes that you have to raise your sword, I’m asking you to protect the people first and not myself - I believe I made that clear. But also, as princess elect of Wysteria… I make a vow to you, Sir Alyn Crawford; that I will do anything  _and_  everything in my power possible to ensure that Wysteria shall never face or go to war again. I vow to you that as long as I rule, you won’t have to go against your knight’s code just because I asked you to follow my request.”

She pauses to inhale deeply, closing her eyes as she did so. Alyn hasn’t said a word, but she hoped he would not - not yet, at least. Lifting his hands that were clasped in between hers, she pulls them gently towards her and brings it up until they’re aligned to her neck and with a slight tilt of her head downwards, she kisses his thumbs. Her lips meet the cold metal of his gauntlets, but she paid no mind to it. All she could ever ask for, right in this very moment in between them, was that her gesture conveyed the sincerity she could not put into words.

It’s far too intimate, highly inappropriate, and the creeping warmth threatening to flood her face completely serves to remind her of it. But no, this was not the time for her to slip away out of embarrassment or shame for her actions. What she asked of Alyn was too much: it was a promise that would not only put her life at risk as he said earlier, but even worse, it could possibly destroy his honor as a knight of Wysteria. It’s downright  _cruel_ , asking him to go against what his very life was centered upon and she doesn’t know if she could bear the guilt of making him do so - but if anything else, it was a gamble the princess was willing to take… if it meant that he would never have to step into the front lines of a battlefield.

She can’t understand  _why_ , herself - as a knight, he was  _trained_  for battle but all she feels at the mere thought of that is a wash of dread seeping through her body. She had absolute faith in his abilities to protect others and himself, but a surge of resolve in her steels herself to take no chances: if there would be a way or any possibility to steer him away from battle completely, then so be it. Alyn, even  _before_  he was made a knight, is  _and_  still first and foremost, a citizen of Wysteria - and it was also now part of her duty to keep him  _safe_.

It’s her obligation as princess, she tells herself. (It’s strange that despite their truth, those words fail reassure the unease lingering in her chest.)

“In short,” she continues when she raises her head a bit, her eyes focusing themselves on his hands, “I vow to you that I won’t put Wysteria in any form of danger - but if I have, and it grows serious… I ask you to forgive me for failing you, but I also ask you to heed my selfish request.”

With those words said, the quiet that falls over them afterwards extends for what seemed like an eternity. 

The princess has her head raised somewhat, but she does not face her knight with the same courage she had earlier.

The knight stands still, his eyes set on the princess but not quite there. His lips are slightly parted as if he was about to say something, but no words escape him.

The setting sun continued to slowly bleed on the horizon.

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 Minutes after the sun had completely set and the stars began to pour themselves out to decorate the vast skies, the knight makes his promise - he releases his hands from princess’ hold and they swiftly wrap themselves around her waist in a light embrace, pulling her body flush to his. The princess’ eyes widen at their sudden proximity, but he continues to surprise her even further when calls her by name and not her title in a light raspy whisper that makes her look up. When she does, her forehead gently comes in contact with his own forehead, the cool of her skin meeting the heat of his - he had lowered his head to the point that their noses were almost touching and from how close they were now, she could see that he had his eyes closed.

She remains still, eyes set on staring at his face as she would breathe in the scent of him; whiffs of soil, grass, copper and steel, sunshine, and sweat mingling together.

“You won’t fail me,” he murmurs to her lowly. The warmth of his breath tickles her cheek, her lips - it was a strange feeling, but definitely not unwelcome. “and you definitely won’t fail Wysteria.”

“You can never be too sure,” she mumbles, her eyes fluttering shut. The sigh that she releases is slow and heavy, but then a wry smile dances on her lips. As soft as she possibly can, she utters her next words to be carried by the winds.

“So do you agree to promise me, Sir Alyn Crawford?”

He opens his eyes slowly, and her face fills his vision. Right now they’re the closest they’ve ever been and if he willed it, he could clear the remaining distance in between them by dipping his head a little lower then angling it to the side to claim her lips as his. For a moment, the shamelessness of his thoughts surprise him - but he also arrives at a realization, an understanding of the  _whys_  he’d been asking himself as of the late about  _her_.

Another pang strikes him, right in his chest.

(… But it wasn’t what she wanted to hear now, was it?)

He swallows thickly, his eyes forcing themselves shut while his arms tighten around her waist. He breathes in deeply, and the vanilla fragrance wafting from her skin teases his nose.

His mouth is dry when he releases the words. 

* * *

 “I do.”

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 (A sharp twinge hits her heart when she hears the crack in voice, but she says nothing of it.)

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> 2: i have no idea if the knight’s code/duty thing is a major plot device for alyn, but it’s basically the center of this fic - other things that are my jam: the men / people sort of, you know, still remembering that the commoner-turned-princess _was_ still a commoner. the wysterian king (poor bruh) + the mc getting along so well, he treats her like his (grand)daughter. yeah. characters  & the ye olde / formal way of speaking, lol.  
> 3: title, minus the (maybe) comes from a song by _augustana_.


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